


Remember This

by Dramatological



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Deal with a Devil, Emotional, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Sacrifice, Sensory Deprivation, Slavery, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramatological/pseuds/Dramatological
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>All of these offerings, these tidings, these years they had given her.  It had never been the finest clothes, the most brilliant bards, the most extensive travel.  All these years, they had been giving her memories to keep close to her heart in the darkness that was to come.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The world made a deal with Death.  Now someone had to pay for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which One Life Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Your standard sacrificial smut. I had an itch. Don't judge.
> 
> A note, before we begin, about consent:
> 
> I'm writing this very like an arranged marriage. In as much as the heroine "volunteers" and "never says no" and the sex is "her duty." I'm also putting all of those in quotes, because that's all bullshit, and we know it. While you will never see a hardcore "rape" scene in this fic (if that changes, I'll warn you beforehand), do not kid yourself about this: Nothing here is okay. Nothing here constitutes consent. Everything here still happens, in the world we live in.
> 
> Minus the demons and magic and undead, of course.

Birthright seemed an odd choice of words for a sacrifice. Fourteen hadn't been confused about what was happening for quite sometime, now. The gifts, the privileges, the expensive education, the finest clothes, the most opulent travel, the wisest and funniest and most eloquent bards at her beck and call. None of these thing were actually hers by rights, but were given to her to assuage the guilt.

Her world had shifted just a couple of degrees to one side when she had finally figured out what that look was, in the eyes of her teachers, the muffled snickering in the street, the pity from the poorest dregs of society. Of course, back then, adulthood had seemed a vast distance away. Years so long she could barely imagine them, days so wondrous she could scarcely believe them, Hours so full she could hardly count them.

But the hours had gone, and the days had gone, and the years had slipped away, and then she had become an adult. She didn't feel any different from yesterday, or the day before, or the week before, but she was forced to concede that her adolescent blemishes had cleared up, that her baby fat had finally melted away, that her moon days could be counted on like a clock. She was an adult, and it was time to pay the world back for everything the world had given to her.

"Remember this," the little girl at the foot of her chair said solemnly, holding out a single white flower, the prettiest, no doubt, the child had been able to find. Fourteen took the flower gently and twirled it around, noting the color, the size, the feather light weight of it, the fuzzy feel of the stem.

A minute passed in silence before she looked up, and smiled at the girl, "I will," she answered, the expected response, before she handed the daisy back. A shy curtsey and the child scampered back off to wherever she had come from, only to be replaced with a middle aged man, holding a rock. Coarse, heavy, and striated in shades of red too numerous to catalog.

"Remember this," the man said, holding out his offering.

Fourteen took the rock carefully in both hands, letting her fingers slide over the surface, finding the sharp edges and rivets and the one side worn smooth by wind and rain. She carefully committed the feel of it to her memory while her eyes noticed the dwindling line of well wishers, the sun that had slipped below the mountains not an hour past, the people pulling out the rope and stakes of her training in the distance. They would burn them, later, in a bonfire big enough to see from the heavens so the gods would know they had held up their end of the bargain.

She wouldn't see it. She wouldn't see anything, ever again, after tonight. She blinked and looked back down, vainly trying to count the stripes, carefully memorizing the exact shade of pinky orange it faded to on the bottom. She would remember. All of these offerings, these tidings, these years they had given her. It had never been the finest clothes, the most brilliant bards, the most extensive travel. All these years, they had been giving her memories to keep close to her heart in the darkness that was to come.

A horn sounded in the distance, causing fourteen to flinch, nearly dropping the rock before she was able to pass it back to the man with a muttered, "I will." The man was swallowed by the small crowd of people still waiting, each holding out their little bits of fabric in colorful patterns, homemade dolls, things in interesting shapes or textures, one boy even had a live toad.

"Remember this," they said, crowding around her, "Remember this."

She tried to reach for them, but Lady Marie had gotten ahold of her elbow and was pulling her back, "It's time, child, it's time." Her hands slipped from the offerings, petting lightly over the little boy and his toad, his hair just a shade to dark to be called brown, the mottled greens of his pet, the muscles of his little hand holding the large thing out to her. I will, her eyes said, though it was too late to say outloud. I will, she promised them.

The old men, James and Bartley, stepped in to corral the crowd while Marie pulled her away, out into the field, to stand next to the standing torches, under the wooden archway someone had planted climbing vines on. It was a wedding of sorts. Just not to a man.

She rubbed her hands down her skirt, a simple thing now of homespun linen -- no more silks and satins where she was going -- fidgeting nervously until Marie's hand found her and squeezed it gently, "Be strong, now, child." She looked over with her rheumy eyes and a sad smile, "You've trained for this all your life."

The new adult nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, listening to the hoof beats in the distance grow louder until the ground thrummed through her slippers and the the dust cloud kicked up from the rarely used path resolved into four horsemen. They weren't men. They were man shaped, but they were changed somehow no one had ever been able to adequately explain to her. They had been men, once, long ago -- the strongest and the bravest of their people, but now they were shades, loitering on the razor edge between life and death.

They were silent as they dismounted in silken, inhuman movements, flowing like liquid down the sides of the massive black steeds, then shifting forward, closer to mist than anything with an actual bone structure.

An elbow from Lady Marie shocked her out of her stupor and she stumbled forward, shaking and panting, her hands gripping at her skirts. She gasped in a breath and tried to start, only for her voice to fail, breaking into a breathy, pathetic thing. She ducked her head, fighting the growing sense of panic and cleared her throat to try again, only slightly stronger this time, "Take me, the fourteenth offering from my people to yours, and leave this place in peace."

The horsemen didn't respond. They didn't move. They just stood there long enough that she swallowed, glancing back at Marie. She'd said the words. She was sure of it, in the right order, and everything. She turned back around and took a breath to try again, louder, when one of the shades finally spoke, "The debt is paid." Another horn sounded in the distance and fourteen sagged, adrenaline abandoning her, now that there was no turning back. Another of the shades stepped forward, leading the fifth horse forward, this one small, delicate and fine boned, a mane in snowy white with patches of painted grey.

She stepped forward only to be brought up short by Marie, "Wait," the old woman called, causing the horsemen to turn to stare at her. She paid them no mind, rushing forward to wrap fourteen in a crushing hug. Her hands pets over the girl's hair and back, squeezing, "Remember this," she whispered, the words caught in flows of hair and dragged away by the winds.

Fourteen stumbled, leaning into the old woman and clinging to the soft shawl around her shoulders. She nodded her response, not trusting her voice to work and squeezed the other woman's arms before she stepped back, lest the horsemen step into to drag her back. She was determined to finish this with the only thing she had left to call her own -- her dignity.

She spun from the woman, the old men, the crowd that had gathered to watch, and climbed onto the proffered white horse as the horsemen mounted and formed ranks around her. Her eyes closed as the horses began to walk into the night. She'd seen the last thing she wanted to see.


	2. In Which a New Life Starts

_Through the fire and through the flames_  
_You won't even say your name_  
_Only "I am that I am"_  
_But who could ever live that way?_  
_\- Vampire Weekend, Ya Hey_

Fourteen felt the cold mist coalescing on her skin to run in rivulets under the collar of her dress. She felt the wind lift her hair, spinning it into wild ringlets of kelp in the waves. Hard muscle bunching and stretching between her thighs and coarse hair clutched in her fists as the steeds raced through the night, past the farms and villages, far from the cities of machines and people, the steady hoofbeats keeping time with her thundering heart.

Time stretched into a single unbroken thread, anchoring her being into the moment, the pure sensation of touch and breath and emotion. Unbridled exhilaration and debilitating terror balanced precariously, coming to an uneasy understanding, a temporary cease fire papering over the broiling chaos in her breast.

The pressure built, shuddering spasms spiking through her back and shoulders, making her legs kick wildly and her elbows buckle. It churned and seethed through her stomach and up her throat until she did the only thing she could -- she screamed.

Rage, fear, bitterness, loneliness -- she shrieked it wordlessly as the oblivious wind, at the uncaring world, at the silent shades keeping pace around her. She wailed until her breath gave out and the tension eased in her chest and she slumped forward over the strong back of the steed, panting and waiting for the next boiling point.

She reached forward, wrapping her arms around the neck of beast, her cheek sliding over the short, rough hair, burning her lips as she murmured, "I don't want to go." If the gelding heard her, it made no sign, driving relentlessly forward towards a destination only it knew.

After a journey that lasted both forever, and not nearly long enough, the horse slowed, cantering, then walking, and finally stopping. Fourteen never opened her eyes. There wouldn't be anything to see, and she didn't want to confirm that, preferring instead to believe with every shred of her being that the sun was shining through the fog, that grass and trees and pretty little white daisies with fuzzy stems were blooming in the valley.

If the shades were really made of mist and water, they gave no sign of it -- perfectly solid hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her down from the horse and standing her upright on the hard ground. Her knees gave out immediately and she crumpled, almost reaching the floor before she was caught again and lifted, held against the cold, hard chest of one of her new masters.

There was movement she barely felt, the shade gliding more than walking, over earth, then stone, and into a structure judging by the slight shift in the sound. It tried to set her down again, and this time kept a firm grip on her elbow as she reacclimated to her legs.

Moments passed in silence, with no movement, no sound from the shade next to her, no telling if the other three were still around. She couldn't even hear a breath that was not her own. She licked her lips nervously, "Please," she whispered before stopping, wincing at the too-loud sound of her own voice. Another second before she tried again, breathing the words, "Do you have a… What do I call you?"

"August," came the reply, a deep, rough voice, like rusted machinery grinding to life. He did not whisper, his voice echoing in the chamber -- either much larger, or much sparser than she had first thought. She let out a breath, the sheer fact that she was answered calming the stuttering of her heart. She stood up straight, folding her hands together at her waist, and tried to ignore the twinge of fear when the steadying hand vanished from her arm.

"Is _he_ here?"

"No."

The shades were not a talkative bunch. She waited for a while, taking deep breaths of the cool air. When nothing else happened she tried again, "I don't know what to do." Lady Marie had gone over everything, of course, except etiquette, protocol, any sort of specifics that might have guided her in this situation. Lady Marie didn't know any of that.

The hand reappeared, moving up her shoulder and to the buttons lining the back of her dress. She could feel his hands working at the tiny things, slipping them free from their closures one at a time, as though he could see perfectly. She took a chance, opening her eyes.

Nothing. Just as she'd been told. She looked down, holding her hands out in front of her. She couldn't seem them, though she could feel them, hovering no more than an arm's length from her face. There was no light, here. Hot tears slid from her eyes and she took a deep, shuddering breath, dropping her hands and waiting. At least she would never know how many of them were watching the shade remove her clothing.

The buttons taken care of, cool fingertips slid under her collar and pushed the cloth down her arms, pulling the sleeves off her wrists and letting the linen fall to the floor at her feet. His hands slid down her sides, fingertips catching the hem of her underwear, sliding it off her hips, then catching the top of her stockings at the tops of her thighs and continuing down, bunching the cloth down to her ankles. He steadied her with a hand on her hip and pulled her slippers off one foot at a time before sweeping the whole pile of clothing to one side and standing again.

Fourteen shivered, her hands twitching forward to cover herself before she pulled them back down to her sides, curling her fingers into fists. No amount of training could make her shoulders relax, though, hunched up defensively, as if that might help anything.

"Too bony, take her back." That voice was new, but before she could do more than flinch, the hand on her waist tightened and she found herself being spun around and shoved to one side. She stumbled, coming up short against the back of her shade. She twisted her head around, searching, having lost all sense of direction. Was the new voice still in front of her?

"Not yours, Surial." Another new speaker, this one a woman. How many people were in the room? Fourteen ducked her head, pulling her arms across her chest and staying close to the cold, wet cloak of the shade that she only hoped was covering her nakedness.

"Thought you liked them free range, sister."

"Not mine, either."

The room went silent again, but unlike before there was a tension in this silence. One hand crept forward, her fingers catching at the cloak, but it slipped past, gliding around her skin like sand. It defied any attempt to catch it or hold it or pull it around herself.

"You must be kidding," Surial finally responded to his sister, his voice thick with contempt.

"Unless you'd like to fight him for her, of course," her voice carried buried laughter, a smile Fourteen could almost see. She was teasing her brother, looking for a reaction.

Only a moment's pause before Surial shot back, "Or wait for him to forget."

Whatever impasse had just happened, that seemed to break it, as the shade's grip on her waist loosened, then slipped away. Fourteen started and shuffled closer to his back, unwilling to lose the cover of his cloak just yet.

Footsteps could be heard, heavier, more solid ones than the shades made, retreating to the right before the woman spoke again, "Bring the girl, August."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even write smut without it being slow burn. It's a sickness.
> 
> I'm not sure I want to be cured.


	3. In Which Fourteen is Mounted

_I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore,_  
_And I hold within my hand grains of the golden sand--_  
_How few! yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep,_  
_While I weep--while I weep!_  
_Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream Within a Dream_

The shade moved, flowing away from her like smoke caught in a breeze and Fourteen stumbled after him, her hands held out, waving, trying to catch some small solid bit of him that could be held, a single lonely island in the dark. She felt the cloak slither over her wrist, caressing her hand only to slip away when she tried to grasp it.

She hiccuped soft, forlorn breaths and went still, afraid to keep moving in the blackness. All she could do was wait. It couldn't have been long, a second, a heartbeat, the blink of an eye later, but she gasped in a mix of relief and fear when the touch came. Cold fingers against her bare hip, sliding in and up to still, barely touching her abdomen.

Fourteen grasped the given hand with both of hers, fingers curling around a wrist thick with muscle and fingers callused and rough against her pristine skin. The shade moved, pulling her forward and she fell into step on instinct. This, she knew, she had trained for this. A long, low rush of air left her lips, filling the oppressive silence.

Her hands unclenched, one falling to her side, the other now resting on his arm, fingertips curling under to find a pulse she knew wasn't there, but looked for anyway. She counted steps, though she had no idea where she had started, she counted anyway. Sixty two steps, then a right turn, forty one steps, another right, sixteen and a slight left turn. She lost track almost immediately in the maze of blind corridors, but kept a running commentary in her head. She would remember it, someday, when she had done it enough times.

Bare feet against stone, then wood, and onto a rug that seemed heated after the chill of the other floors. The shade stopped moving and she slid closer to his side, her hand tightening unconsciously, lest he try to pull away again. He didn't move, even when she invaded what would have been personal space were he still alive.

The woman made a soft noise in her throat in front of them, ending in the sound of cushions compressing under a light weight. Silence fell again and Fourteen chewed on her lip, fighting the urge to hide her nudity behind the shade again. For a second, just a single second, she was glad she couldn't see. It was easier, displaying all of her many imperfections when she could pretend no one was looking.

"He doesn't actually care that you're bony," the woman said, though in the half distracted tone of voice her teachers used when they neither expected, nor wanted, a response. She kept her mouth shut, listening to the rich, throaty voice of the woman, a voice used to command, and laughter, and probably even seduction. Hers was a beautiful, ageless voice, without a hint of uncertainty or the breathy nervousness Fourteen often showed.

"They're always something. Too fat, too flat, too full, too blonde, too red, too…" Her voice trailed off in a soft sigh, "None of that matters, girl. You're here for your hot little mortal breaths, and your hot little mortal tears, and your blood and the beating of that little mortal heart." Her voice turned softer, as if no longer actually speaking to the girl, "A million times. One million fleeting throbs. How many have you wasted in the last ten minutes?"

Fourteen swallowed, one hand creeping up her side to press into the heat under her left breast, feeling the thump of her heart, wondering if the woman could hear it.

"No doubt someone will find a use for your hot little mortal cunt, too, but that's not really my concern. August, mount her."

The girl jerked in shock, yanking her hand away from the fade, but he caught her wrist in a vice grip, his other hand going to her shoulder, pressing it forward while he lifted her arm, forcing her forward the slow but inexorable strength of the wind and waves he moved like. More hot, mortal tears washed down her cheeks as she struggled against the weight pressing down on her.

Not yet, she wanted to cry, she wasn't ready, it was too soon, later. She would be a good lover, later, some other time, but the words died in her throat. What use was bargaining with the dead? She started to shake, gasping in breaths and whimpering under her breath, her eyes squeezed shut as if there were something to see in the whole process.

Her knees buckled when she could no longer withstand and relentless strength of the shade and slammed into the floor with enough force to push a grunt from her throat. The second she was down, he moved, slithering around her back and catching her free wrist in an equally iron clasp. The shade crouched at her back, pulling her back against his chest as one knee sank down to the rug next to her thigh, his opposite foot pressing into her ankle.

He leaned forward, over her, pressing her chest towards her knees. She wriggled, bending her back, unable to resist his physical dominance, fighting now to curl up, protect herself by restricting access. August moved her hands, setting them down on her knees and pressing them into her flesh in a clear command to not move them, and then stood up, straddling her shoulders, his knees against her ribs, keeping her in place.

Everything went still and Fourteen trembled, tucking her chin into her chest, though she dared not move the hands he had placed just so. When seconds passed with no more movement, she shifted slightly, raising her head, her fingernails clawing crescents into her flesh. What was he doing? Why was he just standing there?

She straightened slowly, freezing when another hand appeared, still cold, but soft now, fingertips light against her temple. He guided her head back until she was upright underneath him, kneeling between his thighs, his groin pressed against the base of her skull.

"There now," the woman said, her voice sounding lively, as if she'd just offered Fourteen a seat at her table and a crust of her bread, "Isn't that far more comfortable?"

Fourteen blinked in the blackness, but said nothing.

There was a pause in the conversation as the woman shifted before settling again, "Nothing quite as content as a lictor mounting a vestal. I think they like the heat. I asked, once, but we didn't get poets for those posts." Her voice lilted near the end, amused with her own wordplay, "What are you, thirteen?"

The sudden change in topic confused Fourteen for a moment before licked her lips, taking a careful breath to avoid antagonizing the man kneeing her ribs, "Fourteen… Miss." She had no idea what to call the woman. Lady Marie had been clear. He was Master. She'd neglected to give her titles for anyone else she might meet. Likely, no one guessed there would be anyone else to meet.

"Fourteen… Who am I forgetting?" A pause, "Ahh, the little blonde thing Taj snatched up, barely off the horse. Wonder what happened to her." Another pause before her voice went soft and distracted again, "Wouldn't think a lictor could pout, but I swear, they were inconsolable for weeks. Well, no matter. I suspect you'll have plenty of time to soothe the beasts." Her voice got closer as she leaned forward, "Tell me, girl, what do remember?"

Fourteen bit her lip, but she couldn't not answer. Unsure where to begin, she started with her last memory, "Lady Marie, turning away, Old Bartley reaching for her, her shawl was soft, brown with--"

"Nevermind that. The steeds, girl, what do you remember about the shadow steeds?"

She swallowed, taking a breath and pressing back into the relative safety of the shade's thighs, away from the intensity of the woman's voice, "I…" she shook her head, afraid to answer, and afraid not to, "I screamed," she finally admitted, her voice a soft breath of a whisper.

"You're not the first to do that, doubt you'll be the last." The woman's voice retreated as she leaned back again, "I might, too." A breath, the first Fourteen had heard from someone other than herself, "Worth it, though. For the ride. Tell me how it felt, girl."

She filled her lungs, furrowing her brow at the odd emotion she could hear, but not decipher, "Terrifying. And…" she trailed off, unsure how much to divulge, "Free," she finished softly. Lady Marie had been clear, you do not lie to dead people, they would know, "Like I could fly. So far and so fast that I… Could..." She stuttered to a stop.

"Escape death?" The woman sounded droll, but not angry. She was silent for a long time before she spoke again, and Fourteen was sure of it, now, the woman's voice was drenched in longing, "Would that I were born a mortal man," a second's pause, the dry wit creeping back in, "A prime specimen of my species."

The woman stood, then, her footsteps soft and padding on the rug as she moved away. Her voice was indistinct when she spoke, as if she were facing away, "Run along, now." Another pause Fourteen couldn't interpret without visual cues, "If one of my brothers finds you in the night, you'll wish very much you had let the lictors prepare you. And maybe they'd stop moping. Win, win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call that... revenge of the misdirected titles.


	4. In Which Smut Is Imminent.  Really.  Any day, now.

_Sweep softly thy strings, Musician, the minutes mount to hours;_  
_Frost on the windless casement weaves a labyrinth of flowers;_  
_Ghosts linger in the darkening air, hearken at the open door;_  
_Music hath called them, dreaming, home once more._  
_\- Walter de la Mare, The Song Of Shadows_

Fourteen forgot to count the steps. She'd let August lead her away in a daze, jumping at every sound, twitching at imagined shadows in the darkness, convinced that any moment, one of the woman's brothers would leap out of the blackness and ravage her, right there on the cold stone floor of the hallway. And for all she knew, that's exactly what would happen.

She tried to walk closer to the fade, only to set a foot in front of where he was walking and stumble, pitching forward only to be brought up short by his grip on her elbow. It took several seconds to get her feet back under her, slipping on the slick floor, nerves causing her muscles to jerk randomly. Finally, he picked her up bodily and kept walking.

The cloak proved no more cooperative from the front as she tried to pull it over her shoulders and finally she gave up, curling her arms across her breasts and turning towards his chest. He might protect her from the brothers. He hadn't seemed overly interested in handing her off to one, earlier. He might also help hold her down for the ravaging. He hadn't paused to consider before he'd wrestled her to the ground earlier, either.

The urge to scream again was simmering in her gut, clawing at her insides. She bit the inside of her cheek savagely, tasting the blood pool in her mouth. Screaming would only tell the brothers where she was. If they didn't already know, if they couldn't track her, hear her heartbeat, smell her passing, if they weren't already here, watching her from the depths of the velvet black nothing.

August stopped walking suddenly and tried to set her down, but she flung her arms around his neck and held on, refusing to go. A moment passed, with her clinging and him trying to pull her off before he released her and stood there, letting her dangle from her own arms. When no attack came, she swallowed, her words barely a breath, "Where are we?"

"Your room."

Fourteen considered that before she let her grip slip just enough to touch her toes to the floor, then dropped but kept her hand tangled in the shade's clothing, "Are we alone?"

"No."

"Who else is here?"

"Lictor."

"How many?"

"All."

Fourteen furrowed her brows, trying to think back to history, with professor Linna, with the wild mop of auburn hair tied up in what happened to hand as she bent over one of her dusty old books, mumbling about needing a cup of … Twelve. There were twelve horsemen. She could even remember some of their names, Kim Jae Nam, the first emperor, who had united three warring countries by the time he was twenty three. Ikenna and Okoro, the brothers from the southern desert who had so exalted their family with their double choosing, that their descendants still ruled, today. Lorencio de Estetia, from her own part of the world, who fathered half the country, if you believed everyone who claimed relation actually had been.

She jerked her head back to look over her shoulder, then spun around, but of course there was nothing to see, nothing to hear, no telltale itch that could point out another person if one payed close enough attention. She was in a room with twelve ghosts made of liquid muscle and rusty, unused voices.

August caught her hand and guided it to a vertical surface before he, too, faded into nothingness. Her fingers moved, tracing the new thing in her world of eternal night. It bulged, curving out, then in, getting smaller as she went up. Round. A post of some sort, taller than she was. She tapped her fingernails against it. Made of stone, marble maybe, smooth as glass to her touch. Her hand fell down the post, tracing the progressively larger balls before running into a flat surface just under her hip, large, covered in silken… A bed.

Fourteen jerked her hand away and stumbled backwards several steps before going very, very still. She took a deep breath, head turning side to side, every instinct screaming at her to run, flee, fight, bite and scratch and kick and never let them take her alive and she knew that was stupid the second she thought it. Time to try something else.

"Please," she said, breathed at the room that could be empty for all she knew. Maybe they had all left. Maybe she was alone and talking to walls Maybe she kept talking anyway, "Please, don't hurt me. I can be good. I know I fought, before, but I was afraid. I am afraid. I won't do it again, I just… I've never…" She licked her lips, gasping in a shuddering breath, "I don't know what to do. Lady didn't… We didn't know, and she told me it would just be him and he would put…" another gasp, "Things inside me, and it would hurt, and it would bleed but I should just bite my arm and it would stop eventually and it wouldn't be so bad, forever, and maybe I didn't get to kiss boys like all the other girls, but not all the girls got to kiss boys, anyway, and I had so many other…"

The analytical part of her brain, the part that carefully cataloged the colors and shapes and textures of rocks and toads and fuzzy stemmed daisies, knew what this was. This was panic, she was panicking. The knowledge didn't help her any, and not a single noise answered her desperate rambling. She spun around again, her arms shaking, "August?"

"Yes."

She swiveled towards the voice, waiting, but he didn't say anything else, he didn't move forward, his cold, cold hands didn't appear on her skin to guide her. Why wasn't he helping her? Was he angry? She bit her lip before carefully sliding down to the floor, moving slowly, her hands going to her knees, "Would you… Would you like to mmm…" She blew out a breath, swallowing before she could force the words out, "Mount me?"

"Yes."

Fourteen nodded, ducking her head towards her chest and leaning forward, but still he didn't appear. Her fingers flexed over her naked thighs and she sniffed, blinking back tears, "Please, August. Please m… mount me."

"No."

No? Fourteen choked, her chest tightening painfully as her hands slipped off her knees to the stone floor, barely stopping her from collapsing, "I don't understand," she cried, but the shade didn't answer. She lifted a hand to smack it down against the floor, half frustration, half nerves, "Please help me. I need to be prep…" She stopped, her mouth hanging open before she snapped it shut. She had wanted to get through this with her dignity. That wasn't going to happen.

"I need to be prepared," she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was too good a line not to end on, I had to.
> 
> And I know anyone who reads my stuff has to be a masochist, anyway, so you like it. Right?


	5. In Which I Actually Wrote Some Smut

_Oh, my God, I feel it in the air_   
_Telephone wires above all sizzlin' like your stare_   
_Honey I'm on fire I feel it everywhere_   
_Nothing scares me anymore_   
_\- Lana Del Rey, Summertime Sadness_

Movement. The rustle of clothing, the lighter than air footsteps of the shades. Fourteen lifted her head slowly and shifted, turning towards the sound before more sound started behind her. The creak of hinges, items in a wooden container being banged around, the soft click of a cabinet? Trunk? Something heavy and wooden closing against itself. One of her fingernails bent back suddenly and painfully when her hands spasmed against the stone floor and she hissed in a breath, cradling the injured finger against her abdomen.

 _Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream._ She swiveled her head between now three distinct areas of sound. This was for her own good. This would make her life easier, and please the men that starred in the folk tales she had loved as a child. They were heroes who had given their lives to save the world. They were human sacrifices, just like she was, and they could help each other. That's what the woman had said. But there had been that pause, and she hadn't seemed entirely connected to anything Fourteen would have called humanity. And she had threatened her with the spectre of her brothers and-- _Stop it! Just don't scream._

The sweep of cold fingertips over her bare shoulders warned her and she bit her lip, managing to only flinch, and not scream. She turned her face up towards the owner of the hands, "August?"

"Yes."

The answering reply came from in front of her. She was halfway into a mad scramble for his voice when the decidedly Not-August shade at her back caught her by the elbows. Fourteen froze, realizing her mistake and was entirely unresisting when he pulled her back, settling her back onto her knees, snug against his chest and trapped by his thighs gripping her hips, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered though he didn't -- wouldn't answer, "I can be good," she murmured, her voice softer, trailing off, "I can be good." Perhaps if she repeated it enough it would become true.

Another cold hand on her knee and she reached forward, tentatively bushing August's arm before he caught her wrist and set her hand firmly back onto her thigh, pressing it down again. She chewed on her tongue nervously. Being good was apparently harder than she'd thought. A second hand joined the first on her knees and he pulled them apart, spreading her legs wide enough that she shade behind her had to shift back -- his legs apparently couldn't spread that far.

"I … Uh…" She breathed out slowly, curling her hands into fists and fighting the overwhelming urge to cover herself or pull her legs back together or scream. The man behind her slipped a hand around her side, flattening his palm against her sternum, pulling her torso back while his other hand slid down over the swell of her rear, pushing her hips forward, making the exposure a thousand times worse. Fourteen hissed but didn't fight him, letting her head fall back against the man's shoulder, closing her eyes. She didn't want to even accidently look in the direction of any of the men's eyes.

Her face felt hot enough to sweat and the heat was spreading down her neck to paint her chest in blotches of red. She'd seen it once, and she remembered. The memory was brilliant behind her lids -- the soft, pretty pink in the cheeks of the girl that spread rapidly, turning an angry red with highlights of white across her temples. Fourteen opened her eyes, staring at what she only presumed was the ceiling. Better to see nothing than face an exact, perfectly transcribed memory of what she knew she would look like, right now.

Not-August moved his hand to rest it lightly over her throat, holding her head back while he reached around her, setting his hand, deliberately, overtly, precisely over her sex, cupping her in one large palm. She twitched, her hands moving before they were caught by August and held away. Every muscle went rigid and the hand at her throat tightened to hold her down while she bucked, twisting her hips first one way, then the other, trying to dislodge the possessive grip the man had on her pubic bone.

A grunt, then a groan that elongated, stretching into a soft cry, pushing air up her throat in a futile attempt to relieve the tension in her gut. When her breath ran out she hitched a strangled breath, hot mortal tears leaking from her eyes, and through it all, the men held her, unmoving, possessed of a seemingly endless patience.

Fourteen struggled, pulling at her arms, slamming her thighs together, nothing would dislodge them. Slowly, slowly, she got her body and emotions back under conscious control and forced a slow breath, letting her head drop again and prying her own thighs apart to present herself to the men around her.

August released her wrists and she let her arms fall limply to her sides. As if that had been a signal of some sort, more sets of hands appeared, rubbing at her thighs, her stomach. Her arms were picked back up and passed around, chilled flesh being pressed into her palm, other hands, a bare chest, and one man's cheek. Her attention stolen from the still unmoving hand of Not-August, she turned her head, her brows furrowing.

Someone was holding her hand to his cheek, his own hand flat over hers, spreading her fingers and pressing them into his flesh. It made her heart ache, like her insides were being hollowed out and her rib cage was caving in to fill the void, "Oh, gods," she whispered, her thumb moving to caress the soft, icy skin under his eye, "Oh gods." Her fingers tightened, trying to pull the man closer. He came willingly, letting her press his forehead into her neck while she clutched at the anonymous shoulder in her other hand and reached for someone else.

Not-August chose that moment to drag her attention back to the task at hand. He squeezed her labia, getting a handful of the soft curls and sensitive skin and pulling on them gently. His middle finger slipped between the lips at the motion, dipping into the moist heat of her center before he relaxed his grip, stretching his hand to get another good handful.

She gasped, twitching before freezing again. Her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers dug into the two men who were currently taking their turns. When he didn't stop, just repeating the motion over and over and over again, she relaxed, taking deep breaths and turning her face into his neck, feeling the rough growth of his beard scrape across her nose, "What are your names?"

"February," Not-August answered at the same time the man at her side murmured, "May," into her collarbone and more answers came, each voice different, but all of them rough, as disused as August's had been. May's hand slid up her side to nestle into the warmth under her breast before he moved, pulling his head down to slip the nipple between his lips, suckling at her breast in a motion both soothing and shocking, sending little jolts of sensation through her core to connect with the ones spreading outwards from February's busy hand.

Fourteen could feel her heart thudding faster, the heat of her skin bursting into tiny drops of sweat on her brow. The intriguing sensations she'd discovered, in the dead of night, in her bed, on the few occasions when she was alone, these men were coaxing them out of her, thoroughly and relentlessly, and laying them as bare as the soft skin of her thighs.

She arched her back, pressing up into May's generous lips while another head crowded in over February's arm to take her other breast, dragging his cold tongue over the nipple before sucking it into his mouth, hungry and aggressive next to the tender kisses and flickers and licks from his brother at arms. She hissed in a breath, groaning again, which only caused February to tighten his hold on her, lest she start bucking again.

A sweat, vaguely earthy scent hit her nose moments before a cold, wet glob of something was palmed over her navel, the hands there slipping through it and spreading it around. It warmed quickly as they rubbed it into her skin, some sort of oil, slick, causing the fingers coated in it to slip over her flesh. As if that were another signal, February ceased his endless squeezing and ran his hand through the oil before returning to her sex, two fingers gliding between the sensitive lips, pressing them apart and holding them there.

Fourteen twitched a little, feeling her sex clench a couple of times in quick succession before more of the oil was carefully dribbled over her clit, dripping down over her folds and into the cleft of her rear. She tensed, holding her breath, guessing this was the precursor to things being put inside her, and pain and blood, but none of that happened. February started smearing the slippery substance over her labia, carefully avoiding her clitorous.

August slid his hands under her rear and lifted, causing a twitch and a gasp to escape her, and freeing her legs from her weight. The other men pulled them out of the way and the shade shuffled closer, setting her weight down on his knees. The limbs were pressed up and back, out of the way and held tight under anonymous arms while August spread his hands over her thighs, his thumbs pressing into the crevice of her ass, gathering the lubricant and rubbing it over the bony swell of her rump and up to smear it gently over her entrance.

"August, I…" February chose that moment to finally -- finally, slide his fingers over her clit and whatever she had been planning to say dissolved into a high-pitched yelp, then a strangled cry as August casually slid a single finger into her. She bucked, her nails digging into May's shoulder and her jaw seized, but the expected pain never happened. The finger slipped from her like a whisper and circled her entrance before sliding in again, smooth as silk.

Everything went very still and quiet, the suckling of her nipples, the soft pets of the men, the chilled flesh being pressed against her warmth faded into the background until all she could feel was the fluttering of fingertips over her clit and August's callused, rough worn finger fit into her middle as if it were made to go there. It felt good. It felt more than good. Right at this moment, she couldn't imagine anything so perfect hurting, or why anyone would want it to.

Her attention was so focused, she felt other hands stealing in to investigate, large fingertips tracing the silken skin around his single finger, brushing over their joining as if to prove to themselves that it was real.

"Oh, gods," she breathed, with an entirely different meaning. Another finger joined the first as she hissed in a soft breath. It still didn't hurt, but there was a slight pulling, and the flesh of her opening stretched over his fingers, clinging as they withdrew and to be pressed back in as he thrust into her. She wriggled, jerking, trying to lift her hips up to meet his hand, to chase the infuriatingly fleeting bushes against her clit, but she was locked down tight under the press of bodies, immobile, unable to do anything but feel each press against her inner walls, listen to the wet sounds of the shade plunging his fingers into her heat, wait for the next spark of sensation when February trailed a fingertip over her nub.

"I…. I can't… Oh, gods… Oh gods, I think…"

Everything suddenly stopped. August withdrew his fingers and settled his hands, still against her thighs. February let his hand come to a rest on her navel. Even May and his brother released their hold on her nipples. She gasped, jerking again, though they still held her tight. Her sex was sloppy, dripping, throbbing and clenching rhythmically. She jerked her head back, banging it against February's shoulder and struggled, pulling and straining against them, her arms waving wildly before getting caught, "What… What are you doing?"

"You are prepared," August answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never promised it was satisfying smut.


	6. In Which Suriel Makes an Offer

_As never fool for love, I starved for you;_  
_My throat was dry and my eyes hot to see._  
_Your mouth so lying was most heaven in view,_  
_And your remembered smell most agony._  
_\- Rupert Brooke, Libido_

Fourteen jerked and strained and pulled, then pushed, and very nearly managed to bite May before he'd gotten a hand around her jaw. She hissed at him, yelling before going limp, panting, trying to will her muscles to start working again, to work better, to force these half dead men away from her. Her muscles were having none of it. They wanted sleep. It had been untold hours since she'd woken up an innocent that morning, and became a naked, growling beast this night. She'd crossed a lot more than than the valley to get here. That had been hundreds of years and thousands of leagues ago, and she was exhausted, now that the fear and anger and uncertainty had been washed away by the tears and fighting and physical exertion.

August's hands smoothed down the inside of her thighs and she twitched weakly, making a soft, plaintive sound she was unhappy about hearing come out of her mouth, but not concerned enough about to try and stop it, "You could…" She cleared her throat, silently apologizing to Lady Marie for failing, utterly, to be as saintly as Lady Marie had wanted, "You could keep going." Silence. No answer. She licked her lips, "Couldn't you?"

"No."

No. Fourteen let her head drop back to February's shoulder and closed her eyes. She was a disappointment to Lady Marie and the half dead. Better to just get through it, that's what old Bartley would say, twisting his grey tweed cap around in his hands, sat at a table with the steam from his tea winding upward in the single brilliant ray of sun from the window. Better to just get through it, so's you can get to somethin better. That had been his sage advice for all of her childhood pains and humiliations. "May I sleep, now?"

"Yes."

No one moved immediately, but when she tried to reclaim her arms, they let her go, the shades drifting back into the darkness until only February remained. He picked her up, moving her the few short paces she'd managed to stumble from the bed before he laid her down, pushing her over on her stomach. He moved one of her legs, pulling the knee out to one side before his touch vanished and seconds later someone threw a coverlet over her.

She moved, pulling her hair out of her face and finding a pillow to lay her head on, though she didn't try to reposition her legs. She was asleep before she knew it.

She woke to someone yanking the coverlet off and she moved her head, groggy and confused. It couldn't be morning, yet, there was no sun.

"I hate to be the one to tell you, love, but this pussy is a complete mess."

Suriel. Fourteen jerked, pulling her arms into her chest defensively and trying to pull her legs together, though the knee planted between them stopped her.

He was still talking, "The hair's all matted with goop, the lips are puffy. It's glistening. But not like fresh virgin cunt glistening, it's far too sloppy for that." Hot hands -- hotter than any she'd ever known -- slid up the backs of her thighs, gripping her ass and spreading her open, "You know, I'm starting to think they went mad for lack of vestals, threw caution to the wind, and rutted you like animals."

The overly heated hands released the hold on her rear and the man crawled up over her before dropping to the bed at her side, one arm draped over her waist, "Tell me, sweetling, did they at least line up, or were you doing three and four at a time?"

"Please, sir, I…" She searched desperately for a way to answer that without making him angry, "They.. They were perfect gentlemen."

The man gave a short laugh, "I admit, I'm not up to date on human customs, but I'm fairly certain perfect gentlemen do not make a wreck of your cunny just so my cock will fit with as little fuss as possible." His hand moved, pulling fingers through her hair, "This is a rat's nest, too. Has no one groomed you?"

"Leave her alone, Suriel, the poor thing's had a long day." Another new voice. How many brothers were there?

"Armaros. Fancy meeting you here. Have you seen what your precious lictors did to my sweet virgin cunt?" Suriel sounded aggrieved, as if the state of her pussy was a personal affront to him. Fourteen made a silent promise to never let him see her in any state other than sloppy.

"Don't need to see it, I could smell it from the hallway." Footsteps, then the man was crawling into the bed on her other side. Suriel pulled her hips back against his navel, then lifted one of her legs, tossing it over Armaros' thighs as he settled in at her front. She was caught between their chests, and yet paid very little attention as they continued talking over her head, "When I heard who claimed her, I had to see for myself."

"I do love a good scandal." Suriel's fingers were still combing through her hair, pulling at the tangles, "Surprised the whole court isn't lined up outside, with Eisheth selling tickets." His voice dropped to a barely heard rumble, "Mercenary little bitch."

Armaros chuckled at the other man, "When I called her that, you threatened to have me banished." It was hot -- incredibly hot -- between the two men. They burned and Fourteen felt like she was roasting. She risked their displeasure to turn her face from Armaros' chest to breathe the cooler air above. Neither appeared to notice.

"One must protect one's kin," Suriel responded casually before his hand suddenly tightened in her hair, "September, if you're skulking over here with that jar to spread more goo on her cunt, I will have you flayed." A cold hand appeared on her hip, a shocking relief from the heat of the two men. Suriel growled, but that seemed to have no effect on the shade until he shook her head roughly, causing her to hiss in a sharp breath, "I'll make her watch." The hand slowed, paused on her thigh. A tense moment, and the hand withdrew. After a second's pause he released his hold, going back to grooming her as if nothing had happened.

"You see? They're not so bad, once you learn how to work with them instead of against them," Armaros murmured, hitching her leg up higher to his waist when she tried to pull it back down, as if it had simply slipped and he was simply fixing it.

"If you're suggesting I learn to like mushy pussy, you can leave. I'm not above having you flayed, too."

The other man only laughed at that, but he pulled away, letting her thigh drop back to the bed and letting in blessedly cooler air, "As you say, my lord. I prefer them crawling and begging, anyway." He leveraged himself out of the bed and his footsteps retreated, softening into silence.

Suriel was quiet and still for a long time before he moved, his voice a quiet growl against her ear, "Now then, pet, let me explain how this works." His arm went around her waist again, his hand wrapped around the left side of her rib cage, "Your perfect gentlemen will happily ruin that sweet pussy every two hours from now to kingdom come. And I can't stop them forever. No one can stop them. They don't actually answer to us, the wretches." He slid down the bed slightly, burying his nose in the back of her neck, "The catch, since there's always a catch, love, is they do have to follow orders that don't directly affect their little mission."

She could hear the grin in his voice, "So we forbid them, a very long time ago, from ever finishing the job, or allowing you to do it, yourself. Devious," He slapped an open palm against her rear, not enough to hurt, just enough to make her jump, "Isn't it? We aren't completely without mercy. I put in a little caveat about allowing them to help anytime you had more than one cock in your ass." He paused, fingers tapping thoughtfully on her hip, "And Eisheth had something about gambling or putting you out for commerce or… I don't know. Always money with that one."

Fourteen was staring, sightless, out into the blackness, focussed so intently on staying still and unmoving and passive, she barely felt the line of kisses across her shoulder, "The others, they're going to want something to help you out of your little bind. Some benefit in it for them. I don't need all that, pet. No crawling, no begging, no blood or dark magics. You won't even have to ask. All you need to do is get up one morning, take your bath, and conveniently forget to have the lictors slime you. Go about your business with that pussy smelling like nothing but pussy, glistening with nothing but your own arousal, and I'll know. I'll smell it, and I'll find you, wherever you are, and I will gladly bend you over the first table I find and paint your insides with this orgasm I've been saving up for days." He bit her arm, worrying at the skin without hurting, "Days, love. You have no idea how much my plums ache, right now."

He slithered up her side again, tangling a hand in her hair and holding her head to the bed as he leaned over her, "In the end, you'll be just as sloppy, but so much more satisfied. You'll consider my generosity."

That didn't seem to require an answer, but she gave one anyway, "Yes, sir."

He pat her ass and slid off the bed, up to his feet, "There's a good pet. Sleep now, big day tomorrow."


	7. In Which Fourteen Goes Walking

"For pity's sake, she isn't even out of bed yet."

Fourteen jerked awake and shot up to her hands and knees, fumbling blindly for the edge of the bed and tumbling off it to land on one foot and one knee. The woman. She really did have a voice made for commanding troops. She struggled back up to her feet, rubbing at her eyes and trying to look awake.

"Is this your first slow dance, children? I expect her to be entirely unprepared, she was kidnapped yesterday, what's your excuse?" No one answered her, though she didn't seem to require one, "Too busy rubbing your little boy cocks off through your pockets? Hmm?" A moment's pause, Fourteen could well imagine the look she was giving the shades, right now, "First person to throw a bucket of water at her and run a comb through her hair gets to mount her. Go. Go!"

She was grabbed by at least three different sets of hands and practically carried past the woman, who was still giving orders in a voice that dared you to disobey. In moments she was set down in something that seemed like a tub. The shades apparently had taken the woman seriously, though, as a second later she was drenched in a bucketful of cold water.

Fourteen shrieked at the shock and stumbled away from the cold before banging off a wall and slipping. She was caught -- barely -- by her arms and stood back up again while another bucket of frigid water was poured over her head and brushes appeared. The shades rubbed her down like a horse, a couple working at her skin and the vaguely crusty residue of whatever they'd used to prepare her now dried in her pubic hair. A third soaped her hair, while pulling a comb roughly through the tangles -- efficient, that one.

She stood still, teeth chattering in the cold as they rinsed her off with more icy water, then lifted her out of the tub. Mercy appeared in the form of towels, rubbing at her head and down her sides. In what had to be the current land speed record, she was hustled back out and presented to Suriel's sister.

"October, of course. With April in a close second. Interesting. Well? Go on, then."

A hand came down on her shoulder, gently, this time, but Fourteen sank to her knees easily. The shade, October she supposed, took up position over her and for the first time that morning, a little peace reigned. She shivered, huddling closer to the man's legs as if they might be warm. They weren't.

"I assume you need to be prepared?" Her voice would brook no arguments or lollygagging.

"Yes, Miss."

"Very well, April, you take care of that. August, bring me a chair." Movement commenced immediately. The sound of a wooden chair scraping lightly over stone, and the woman settling into it with soft sigh just as cold fingertips traced a line over her knee.

Fourteen hesitated for a bare second before taking a deep breath and leaning back into October, spreading her legs and shifting her hips forward as they'd shown her. She closed her eyes, embarrassed, though the woman didn't seem to even notice what was going on, "I understand you only had two visitors, last night. I can't quite decide if it's fear or disinterest driving down demand. Needs more research. August, be a dear and find a mop for that spot on the floor. We can't have Yama Raja's intended living in a sty. Honestly, we may as well bring in a breeding chair if that's how you plan on treating your new pet."

The woman's disinterested chattering was calming in a strange way and Fourteen let her head list to one side, finding a comfortable spot to one side of October's bulge as April slid a couple of fingertips over her still wet labia, pulling them apart and tapping at her entrance, as if to coax a rabbit out of a warren.

"And what did my dear brother have to say about me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip before asking, "Are you Eisheth, miss?"

"I am."

Fourteen cleared her throat softly, shifting as the cold oil was palmed over her sex and April began to rub her in earnest, "He said… He said one must protect one's kin, Miss."

A long pause filled with naught but the wet sucking sounds of April's large fingers working her pussy and her own soft hisses and sighs as she desperately tried to ignore him. Finally, Eisheth gave a soft, though edged laugh, "That was a brilliant bit of half truth masking deceit, my dear. You were well trained." She switched topics again with a speed that made Fourteen dizzy, "It's not a puzzle box, April. Pry it open, we've got important things to deal with."

April hadn't been trying to pry her open for a little bit by that point, but still seemed reluctant to let her go. His other hand slid up her thigh to her hip, pulling her closer for a couple of last thrusts before he released her, his fingers slipping out of her with an obscene sound.

"There, now that's taken care care of," clothing rustled as the woman stood up, "You four, the Kiraman Katibin have chosen, you'll take care of that. The rest of you with me, we've got two days worth of work to catch up on after your little holiday." Her footsteps headed for the door before she stopped suddenly, "Oh, right, the girl. You'll be meeting your lord today. Run along, or you'll miss food."

Fourteen blinked, standing up with the help of October, "I… I'm not going with the…" she stopped herself before calling them shades, "The uh… Lictors?"

There was laughter in Eisheth's voice, laid gently over a core of steel, "If the lictor's only job was to follow you around and slop your cunt, my dear, I daresay we wouldn't need so many." A moment's pause, as if the woman were waiting something, but Fourteen didn't know what. She worked her lips, trying to think of something to say before the immortal continued, "Well? Are you waiting for breakfast in bed and a massage?"

"I… I don't know wh-where to go, Miss," Fourteen forced out, anxious now that she was apparently trying the woman's patience.

Footsteps, getting closer, then a heated hand slid around her elbow, linking their arms as she walked her to the door, "Go straight. When you run into something, knock on it." The hand vanished from arm and she patted the slave on the rump, "Off with you now."

Fourteen stumbled forward, then paused, taking deep breaths. She knew how to do this, she just needed to get her heartbeat back under control. After a moment she licked her lips and started forward, sliding one foot forward fluidly, putting her weight on her toes first, then rolling forward, she arms held out in front of her. Lady Marie had said she was very good at this, managing a good time despite the blindfolds and obstacles they always scattered around her path.

She could hear Eisheth still behind her, her voice growing soft as Fourteen moved away, still chatting with the Shades like they might answer. They never did. Eventually, her questing hands caught something and she stopped, standing up straight and rubbing her palms down her hips nervously before she reached forward, and knocked softly.

"That's a wall," Eisheth called from down the hallway. Fourteen pursed her lips and took a careful step back, turning around and trying to get her bearings. "Turn left. Your other left." A soft, vaguely disgusted noise, "Mortals," the woman was walking off now, down another hallways to the side, "More trouble than they're worth, don't you think, July?"


	8. In Which a Deal is Made

_I ain't, I ain't, I ain't_  
_A buyin' into your apathy_  
_I'm gonna learn ya my philosophy_  
_You wanna know about atrocity?_  
_Atrocity?_  
_\- Stone Temple Pilots, Sex Type Thing_

Twenty three further steps down the hallway, and Fourteen ran into something else. She paused this time, letting her fingers run over the surface. Wooden, large, her hand caught on a handle and she sighed in relief. A door. 

Still, she paused, staring sightlessly ahead, chewing on her lip. He was in there. He would put things inside her, and there would be pain and there would be blood and she would bite her arm so as to not bother him with her weeping and fear. Perhaps not the first time, or the fourth, or the fifth, or tenth, but soon enough, one of the millions upon millions of seeds that he spilled inside her would take root, and it would grow, and then… 

Well, there was disagreement on what happened next. Tania has stated with surety that snakes would begin to slip from her, slithering out of her womb, dozens a day, for weeks, going off to re-enter the world of the living and cause all of man's misfortunes. Wardrow has scoffed at that, insisting that she would simply be pregnant, and in nine months, she would give birth, and of course she would love the child, and raise it, for it was in woman's nature to do so. 

She had asked Lady Maria, and the old woman had taken her hand, smiling at that. It didn't matter, she had said. There was no knowing what grew from dead seed, and the important part was that whatever happened, she would have fulfilled her part of the bargain, and he would stop hurting her. 

Best to just get through it, so's she could get to somethin better. 

Moments after she knocked, the door swung open with a heavy, sound. "Four steps forward." The voice was big. Shockingly large, deep and resonant, it filled the room and brushed past her like an unfelt wind. Whatever made that voice must have been massive. She trembled, but dared not disobey, sliding forward a careful four steps exactly. 

"Kneal," the voice commanded and she did so, sinking to her knees, her hands going to her thighs and her knees twitching apart. She tilted her hips forward to expose herself, like the shades had positioned her, hoping this was the right thing to do. 

The voice went quiet, and as the silence fell, she began to hear other noises, the soft brush of fabric, shuffling feet, the murmur and movement of many other people. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat in her cheeks again, trying not to think of how many eyes other than his were caressing her naked flesh. 

Endless moments passed before a voice, not the big one, a smaller, man sized one, spoke, "She seems small, lord. We should have the lictors stretch her. Replicas can be made. If they did so under lord's direction and for lord's pleasure, surely this would please the cov…" 

"She will do." Master's voice cut off the man and Fourteen could have wept with relief. His words frightened her. She could feel her shoulders shaking, and her jaw ached from her teeth clenching. She called up the memory of August's gentle hands, his two fingers pressing past her entrance, sliding into her core, the feeling of her pussy clinging to them as he pulled them out, the blissful sense of being filled as they thrust back in. How could that not be enough? 

"Leave us." Fourteen twitched, blinking out of her thought as Master ordered the room cleared. The sound of other people increased, footsteps, soft brushes of clothing against her arms as the others filed past her. It took minutes for the room to empty, and the heavy door shut behind her with a sound that sent shivers down her spine. 

She went still, silent, waiting. They were alone, the silence of room deep as death, oppressive, it weighed on her chest and she imagined she could hear her own heart, rabbiting against her ribs in fear. 

"There is food on a small table, to your left." 

Fourteen swallowed and caught up on her breathing. Minus the fact that Master must be taller than a house, he did not seem overtly cruel or mocking like his brother, nor desperately attempting to live a life through a frightened girl's memories like his sister. Perhaps he was a just ruler. Kind and wise and forgiving. The stories were full of such kings. Truth be told, it was the queens one had to be wary of. 

She turned slightly, her left hand seeking out the table and finding a plate with a hunk of soft bread and some wet slices of some as yet-unidentified fruit. She picked up the bread and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing only to rip at it again with her teeth. She couldn't recall the last time she ate. She'd been far too nervous at the feast. Master's soft chuckle stilled her chewing and she swallowed, the bread now sticking to her dry throat. She stared, wide eyed towards the sound. Had she offended? 

The sound simply trailed off and the room went silent again. Fourteen moved slowly, still staring at the spot she thought his head might be, her left hand snaking out to explore the table and finding a glass. She brought it up and gulped down the water before setting it and the hunk of bread aside, "Forgive me, master, I had for--" 

"You've seen a cock, yes?" 

Fourteen choked down the end of her sentence and ducked her head, suddenly mortified. Marie had, of course, shown her many picture books with detailed drawings of naked men in them with all sorts of genitalia -- long and small and hard and flaccid -- they just hadn't spoken of them much, "Yes, Master," she answered, tucking her still wet hair behind an ear. 

"A real one, I mean." 

Fourteen forgot how to breath. She blinked once, twice at the floor. There were fake ones? "I…" she trailed off, unsure of how to answer that. 

"Come here." 

That, she could do. She stood up and stepped carefully towards the voice, sweeping her feet forward with delicately pointed toes to catch any obstacles in the way. When her foot knocked against something she stopped, waiting more instructions. Master shifted, and she heard clothing being moved before a large hand caught her wrist and drew her forward. She shuffled slowly, carefully forward until her dropped her hand on a warm, hard… Her hand explored gingerly, finding a knee, so this was a thigh. A large thigh, the with no give that she could tell at all, covered in what felt like a thin linen. Master had the hard muscles she had found enticing in the boys she had seen. He was not slimy or spiky or any of the other things she had feared. 

"Touch my cock, girl. Memorize it. It is the one thing you must never forget." 

Fourteen swallowed, furrowing her brows at the odd phrasing, but she shuffled forward another step, sliding her hips between Master's spread thighs, nervous fingertips searching upwards into his lap, then in, finding his navel. She took a breath, fear and excitement warring in her stomach. Her hand shook, fumbling down towards his groin before she felt it, hard and hot to the touch, rising from a soft bed of hair. The girl paused, going very still. She couldn't wrap her hand around the width. 

Trembling, she moved her other hand up, meeting the first, finally getting the whole width of him encircled. Carefully, gently, she dragged her hands up the silken length, feeling the skin move under her palms, until she reached the glans. She couldn't go any further. Sick, icy fear settled in her gut. It was a least as long as her forearm, the width of one of her fists. She dared not pull away, but she couldn't bear to keep going. Unbidden tears washed down her cheeks. 

"You don't seem pleased." 

She couldn't get enough air, gasping for breath with soft, high pitched sounds. She could feel panic clawing up her throat and bit down hard on her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut,. Willing her eyes to dryness. It wasn't working. 

His hand came down on top of hers and she flinched but didn't pull away. He slid the two hands back down to rest at his pubic bone and held them there, "The covenant demands a child. That means that I shove this cock that so pleases you deep into you, repeatedly, over and over and over, until you whelp me a son. You may live through the fucking, I doubt you'll survive the birth." 

Fourteen was beginning to feel light headed. She swayed on her feet, but the demon suddenly released her hands and leaned forward, catching her cheeks between warm palms, holding her upright by the base of her skull, "Or," he whispered harshly, so close to her face that she could feel his breath brushing past her cheek, "Or you help me perpetrate a fraud." 

Her head cleared as his words started to sink in and she gasped a harsh breath, suddenly listening intently. "Do you understand, girl?" His thumbs slid through the tears on her cheeks, a comforting motion, "If anyone, ever, finds out that I have not fucked you, I will fuck you. Hard. Tell me you understand." 

"If anyone finds out you have not fucked me, you will fuck me. I understand." The man released her cheeks slowly and leaned back again. Fourteen stood swaying in shock. If he had fucked her, she'd be bleeding, possibly unable to walk. How was it possible anyone would not know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while. Actually had this half done, lingering in limbo on my hard drive, waiting for another itch.


	9. In Which Fourteen Figures out the Plan

Master stood up, his great cock bumping into her waist, then dragging upward to finally come free over one shoulder, lifting her hair. Fourteen stood still, trying to take in the sheer size of the man. How tall was he, that his manhood could rest on her shoulder? He didn't give her long to consider as an arm slid around her waist and picked her up.

She gasped, clinging to his forearm as he started moving again, taking her with him like she were a small, somewhat ill behaved child getting hauled out of it's latest mischief. It didn't take him long to get where he was going, and when he stopped he lifted her higher, manhandling her until she was pressed against his chest, and then they were falling. 

Fourteen had time to squeak, her muscles jerking reflexively before they landed, bouncing once. A bed. She went still, if stiff, freezing and waiting, eyes wide as if they could somehow pick up more light. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to fuck her, anyway? 

The bed shifted as someone joined them and she pushed herself upright from his chest, looking back over her shoulder. Master didn't seem to notice the other person, shifting her up and back, retrieving his large cock from behind her back, then setting her back down on top of it, the large head directly underneath her entrance. 

"Master, I--" 

"Hush, girl," the visitor, a man, said as master's muscles tensed under her and this new person caught her wrists, "Hold your master's legs." Confused, Fourteen went limp, letting him pull her arms out to the side until she felt, then wrapped her hands around what he had guided her toward. The visitor released her wrists and she carefully traced the objects with her fingers. Ankles. She was holding ankles. Master's ankles, by the orientation. 

She took a breath, intending to ask what to do, now, but the man had told her to hush. You don't argue with dead people, either. They always won. She stayed still, holding master's ankles as he released the tensed muscles slowly, letting her take their weight. She shifted her grip, bringing them closer to her shoulders -- they were heavy and she was afraid she'd drop them. 

There was movement behind her, then soft, wet sounds, repeating several times, then more movement. Fourteen turned her head, listening, trying to figure out what was happening. The fear that had receded when Master had told her he wouldn't put his cock inside her was returning in force. She flinched when she felt the visitor tap one of her wrists, "Push them forward, girl." 

Afraid to argue, she dropped Master's ankles onto her shoulders and wrapped her arms around them, gripping his waist with her knees and leaning forward, pressing the hard legs towards his chest. The bed shifted as the visitor slid closer, one of his heated hands falling to her hip. He squeezed the hip bone, pressing her down onto Master's cock, and then she was moving again, rocking forward with Master. 

Realization dawned just as Master hummed under his breath, his great hand slipping down to cover the visitor's hand, and a good deal of her rump. Fourteen was not getting fucked. She was, indeed, entirely irrelevant to what was happening, save, perhaps, the care taken to keep her pussy pressed to the head of his cock. 

She stared, sightless, into the thick velvet black in front of her, passive and unresisting as the men rocked back and forth underneath her. She'd heard tales from some of the bards, as she grew older and they bolder, but Lady Marie had only tightened her lips when asked, and sent them away. It's wasn't something she'd need to worry about. 

Fourteen slid her hand gently up one of master's legs, holding his ankle and resting her cheek against the side of his foot. She was fascinated by the obscene sounds of their coupling, the visitor's breath against her back, Master's soft sighs punctuated with hisses and gasps. Liquid heat dripped down from her navel to puddle at her core, and she felt her sex bloom, opening like a flower. 

The men released her hip as Master caught his lover's hand, fingers twining together, pulling the man closer. He came happily, his chest sliding against her back as he reached around her thin frame to rest his free hand on Master's stomach. She resisted the urge to press back against him, afraid to move, afraid to make a sound lest she disrupt the delicate dance that was leading to such achingly sweet pressure in her nethers. 

With her hips released, their rocking was now causing her to slide, her well lubricated pussy slipping over Master's cock, down his length with the head pressing her lips apart and just barely brushing past her clit before she slid the other direction. Fourteen's eyes rolled back in her head and her eyelids slipped closed, her mouth open as if that would get her more air. 

Master groaned underneath her and his large hand reappeared on her hip, pressing her back down but also encouraging the slide, masterbating himself with her silken cunt, "Like that," he rumbled, his voice low and thick. The visitor practically cooed in response, increasing his pace, his breath heavy now, his forehead resting against her back. "Yes," Master purred approvingly, "Oh, yes." 

Fourteen bit her pinky hard to keep from crying out, but that couldn't stop the low, pleading sound in her throat. She was trembling in her master's grip, powerless against the feel of him rubbing against her pussy, the obvious pleasure gripping both men, the incredibly intimate sounds of the visitor's thrusts, skin slapping against skin as he bottomed out, his whole cock buried deep inside. Her sex clenched, then released, then again, but her cunt was empty, and for the first time, that felt wrong. Wonderful, and wet and and strung so tightly the ache felt good, but also wrong. 

"Now, now," master grunted, shifting, his stomach tensing and his hand swatting at her hip. The visitor moved suddenly, pressing her forward, one hand sliding underneath to grip Master's cock and push it against her entrance. His fingers slipped in the wetness, both natural and left there by the shades, causing his fingertips to prod at her clit as he tried to keep master in position and continue pumping his hips. 

Fourteen cried out, unable to keep a lid on the pressure building inside. She pressed her legs apart, feeling the tendons stretch as she tried to open enough to fit the glorious cock head just the tiniest bit into her center. It stretched her, pressing, but never quite managing to break through, and soon enough, master was gripping her roughly, holding her still as he bucked his hips, driving himself into her, increasing the stretching sensation almost past the point that she could bear. 

A second later she felt him orgasm, his seed squeezing out from around his cockhead to drip down her thighs and onto his stomach, the continued bucking spreading it around until both her pussy and ass were coated with him. Master's orgasm yanked the visitor down with him and he groaned, loud, pressing in as far as the skin would let him. She could feel him seizing against her back, unable to breath while his cock was thoroughly milked by the master's contractions. 

And then he was moving again, pulling master's legs away from her and letting them drop back to the bed as he weakly climbed atop the great man with her and collapsed against her back, pressing her down against Master's chest. She could feel master's cock still twitching against her thigh and she wanted to scream, but dared not. Instead she bit the palm of her hand and squeezed her eyes closed, while her pussy still desperately clenched at nothing, begging for something it wasn't going to get. 

Master was purring, his chest vibrating with the sound, his hands languidly stroking them like his favored pets. The visitor made a contented sound, nuzzling at her shoulder, as pleased as it was possible to be for his master's approval. 

Fourteen had just begun to think she might live through the tortuous need they had left her with when Master tapped the other pet's shoulder, "Cut her." 

Cut… She jerked, her need forgotten in a flash of panic. Before she could wriggle out from between them, Master had crushed an arm around her waist, holding her down and with his other hand reaching past her hip to grip her rear and pull the cheeks apart. The visitor hadn't needed any sort of explanation, they had apparently planned this beforehand, and he lept into action. He heaved himself off the bed and she could hear him padding across the floor, then returning. He dropped a knee heavily onto the bed behind her and his fingers were suddenly pressing into her. It was far too late for his fingers to provide any relief when she felt the blade slice into her, just inside her entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I turned _myself_ on, there.


	10. In Which a Rescue Happens

The visitor had pulled her up off the bed after cutting her and led her to the door. A rough hand had gripped her cheeks while he reminded her of the deal, sealing that with the press of warm lips to her forehead before he'd opened the door and shooed her into the hallway with a swat on her rear.

It seemed she'd barely arrived before Fourteen found herself pushed back into the hall. She swayed, in reaction or perhaps shock and backed up against the door, pressing her shoulders to it in the hopes of staying upright until it passed. She could feel Master's ejaculate, or her own blood, but probably both dripping down her legs and she reached down to rub at the wetness on her inner thighs. Without sight, it was impossible to tell if she was making it better or just smearing it around, and now she had it all over her hands, too. 

She gave up on that and pressed the back of one wrist to her lips, squeezing her eyes closed, willing herself to not start bawling. She was an adult, now, adults did not bawl like spoiled children when things did not turn out as well as one had imagined they might. A silly idea, anyway, that a man people called The Grim Reaper might be charming and good looking and chivalrous like the stupid princes in the stupid stories the bards told her. Lady Marie had told her. She should have listened to lessons more than stories. 

It took a minute before Fourteen registered the murmuring of soft voices and the movement of cloth in the hallway with her. She held her breath and stood up straight, suddenly aware of what she must look like, "The beast," a woman whispered accusingly, causing several others to mumble in either agreement or descent, it was difficult to tell. She turned her face to one side and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that had appeared despite her unwillingness. She had no idea how to get back to her room without going directly through the people in the hallway. 

The murmuring quieted down and the crowd was silent for a bare second before a man stated, more to himself than anyone else, "I see," another moment's pause and he continued, louder, "Perhaps we should stand here and stare some more, that seems very likely to help." 

"What d'ya want us to do? She needs a bath. I'm not giving her one." 

"Maybe we should call in the kennel master!" 

Laughter filled the hallway, but his interruption seemed to have desired effect anyway, as people walked off, echoing lively chatter and more laughter off the stone walls. Fourteen found she could breath again when the hallways had gone quiet and she leaned back against the door again, lifting her hand to wipe her forehead when she was stopped by the man, speaking again, "Careful, there, little one. You've got blood on your hand." 

She reconsidered before turning her hand over and using her forearm to scrub at her forehead and brush the wild hair out of the way. "Thank you," she said softly as she finished and got herself oriented. How many steps here? She couldn't remember. With luck, she wouldn't get caught on a wall, this time. 

"Your lictors abandoned you to the vagaries of the royal court, it seems." Fourteen didn't recognize the voice, but he had helped her with the crowd, and he hadn't laughed with the others, and though his voice was deep and gravely, bordering more on growling than speaking, the words he used made it seem gentle enough. 

"Yes, sir," she replied politely, ducking her head in a slight bow. 

"First day is always the hardest," he said in a sort of brush off, like something said so many times it had started to lose any real meaning, "I'm going walk over to you, now, and take you by the arm, since I prefer my hand holding sans blood. If you could keep the flinching and screaming to a minimum I would appreciate that." He had started walking almost as soon as he'd said it, and when he finished he was by her side, tall, but no where near Master's height, "Get enough of that in my day job, you understand." A warm hand appeared at her elbow and slid underneath her arm before a large hand closed around her wrist. 

Fourteen had no idea how to react to that. He was being charming and funny. He was speaking to her as if they were equals, or perhaps she was even a step higher. It made her uncomfortable even as it pleased her. "Yes, sir," she managed, as he started walking her slowly back down the hallway. There was something wrong with the man's hand. She was as certain as she could be that those were claws resting against her skin. Sharp ones. 

"Are you…" She trailed off. She had no idea how to ask that question without risking the man's displeasure. She settled on something non threatening, "Are you a member of the court, sir?" 

He hummed at that, as if the question were more complicated than it seemed, "I'm a… Minor prince, you might say. In _a_ court." He shifted beside her as his other hand came to rest on top of the arm he was holding, petting the flesh there softly, "There are things you do not know, little one. Some of these things could hurt you. The trick is knowing which will hurt if you don't know, and which will hurt if you do." 

He stopped walking as she felt them pass a threshold, but did not release her immediately. She was now sure he had claws, as he was trailing them up and down her arm. She stood silently for a long moment, wondering if perhaps she was supposed to do something, if he were waiting for something. "Thank you for helping me," she said at last, hoping that would at least prompt him to do something. 

"I'm not certain that I did," he answered before he finally let go of her arm. He didn't leave her, though, one claw trailing up the back of her arm to her shoulder and up to her neck, catching the hair there and brushing it back from her face, "It's been ages since a vestal was claimed for the realm. I imagine your dance card is full," he paused, "Nor do I know when you'll be fit for dancing, again, but it would please me to hear a mortal scream for something besides mercy." She could swear he was grinning, "You know how that is." 

Fourteen swallowed, more confused now than when she had started this walk. "Yes, sir," she murmured, as that seemed to be working out for her thus far. 

The man chuckled then, apparently pleased. Whether at her answer, or her confusion, it was impossible to tell. His palm settled against her cheek and his thumb brushed over her lips, "Until next time, little one. Ask the lictors for a special bath, if you're up for it this evening. I'd like that." With that his hand vanished and he left her, standing near the door of her room.


	11. In Which Fourteen is Bathed

Her room was silent, but she was beginning to expect that, "Is anyone here?"

When a moment passed without answer she relaxed her shoulders and took a breath. Even without sight, she had felt her lack of privacy -- and clothing -- sharply. A few minutes of being alone seemed a luxury she didn't want to waste. 

With one hand held out to drag delicate fingertip over the rough stone of the wall, she followed the curve around her room. It was round, broken by two doorways, with various trunks and wardrobes in a silky varnished wood standing at intervals. She rummaged through them as she passed, finding bits of cloth -- blankets, sheets, perhaps some clothing, but not much of that. The tunks were full of jars of pungent ointments and oils and other unidentified substances, and … implements. 

Some of the latter were shaped to resemble the penises she had seen pictures of -- these in thankfully much smaller sizes than Master's. Other bits were less certain, leather and metal with buckles, there were bars and hooks and straps, and though none of it seemed overtly lethal, some of the items caused a warning chill to shiver up her spine before she dropped them and closed the trunk. 

Fourteen considered trying to find the bed and curling up for a nap, but she could still feel Master's cum and her own blood, half slimy, half sticky, coating her thighs and dripping down her calves. She would ruin the bedding in this state. 

Instead, she found the bathroom. She fumbled about, finding the tub, and the commode and quick succession. She continued further, looking for water, and nearly burned herself when her fingertips brushed something scalding. She hissed a soft breath and sucked on her fingers, thinking. A warm bath might be worth losing a finger or two, but there was no telling if she could even get the water into the tub before she killed herself. 

She was still considering how to accomplish such an unlikely feat as heating water by herself when a hand appeared on her shoulder, causing her to flinch and yank away, nearly falling before she was caught in a strong, cold grip, "Who…?" 

"November," the shade answered. His voice had lost some of the rustiness, smoothing out just enough to hint at the velvet it must have sounded like when he'd been alive. 

Fourteen sagged a little, resting a hand against her chest, feeling her heart slowing from the shock, "November," she whispered, as if to reassure herself that the shades were not dangerous. At least, not overtly dangerous, though some of the items they kept in their trunks… She shook her head at the thought and cleared her throat, "I was trying to make a bath." 

November didn't respond. She hadn't actually expected that -- but he didn't move either. He stood there, holding her arm for long enough that her nervousness crawled back into her gut before finally -- blessedly -- shifting. She felt a second hand brush past her hip, before fingertips trailed up the inside of one of her thighs. The muscles underneath his touch jumped and quivered and she froze, like a rabbit when the wolf was near. There was a second, a split second, when her legs twitched apart the barest inch, and her hips flexed to present her sloppy, somewhat bruised and battered but still warm and tight pussy to his questing fingers. Then reality reasserted itself and she backed up, catching his wrist in a weak grip, "I--" 

"Blood," he interrupted and she stopped, her mouth closing with a click of teeth. Of course. He wasn't offering to prepare her again, certainly not with her painted in drying semen and gore. 

"Oh," she whispered, her head tilting forward as if she could watch him in his resumed exploration of the warzone between her thighs. The shade's hand slipped from her arm to reappear on her hip and she felt him slide down to one knee, the now crusted over hairs covering her privates getting caught in his grip and pulled apart, peeling her labia open. She had a memory, dusted sepia with age, of a man bent over, his hands on his knees and his head tilted, peering into the complicated guts of a machine, brows furrowed as he hummed. She covered her face with her hands, forgetting all about the blood on them. 

November stood then, taking her hand gently and pulling her over to the tub. She followed him silently, her chin still tucked into her breast bone, her hair hiding her shame. She stepped into the large thing as directed, then slid down to huddle against one of the walls, her knees pulled up to her chest. 

The shade left her, and she waited, listening to the sounds of him moving pans, the pouring of water, the sounds somehow disconnected from the world, lacking the undertone of breath, of footsteps, of a human cause. In moments he returned, bringing with him water so hot it made her toes curl in defense. Fourteen hissed in a breath when the steaming water rose high enough to touch her abused sex, causing the cut to sting. The water stopped pouring, and a large hand appeared against her sternum, "Slow," he rasped at her. 

The word didn't seem to make sense in the context, but she thought she caught the meaning. _Slowly. Gently. Don't panic._ She bit her lip and closed her eyes, nodding and trying to relax, to breath through the pain as it eased slowly, washed away with the water. 

He didn't fill the tub, only up to her hips before he was picking up an ankle, pulling the leg from her chest so he could wash away the mess Master had left. His touch was gentle, the water was warm, and the room was full of the comfortingly normal sounds of water dripping, of limbs splashing, flesh rubbing against the bottom of the tub. 

Fourteen relaxed slowly, leaning back and letting her other leg slide down into the water. Her eyes slipped closed as he started on the other leg and the stinging in her groin faded. Her thoughts adrift on the rhythmic stroking of the cloth against her thigh, the now warmed hand under her knee, holding it out of the water. Was it November who had held her, on her first night, only hours, but somehow years ago? She couldn't remember the name, now, only the wet slide of his fingertip over her clit and his strong hand around her throat as August introduced her virgin pussy to all the wonders it had been hiding in it's soft folds. 

She was roused from the memory by a hand on her navel. November had finished with her thigh, letting it slip back into the tub gently, "Slow," he repeated, almost as a warning before she felt the fingertips of his other hand slip between her thighs, brushing through her pubic curls. Even with the notice, she twitched, her legs trembling. She was supposed to have been brutally penetrated by a cock the size of her arm not a couple of hours past. If November pressed a finger into her, and found her still tight, the soft flesh whole and healthy, he was going to know. 

She grabbed his wrist, "I'll do that." 

The shade hesitated before he set his hand down, cupping her pussy against his palm, "I know," he said simply. 

Fourteen shook her head. He couldn't know. Not really. If he knew, she would die. So her only real option was denial, "Know what?" 

"He sent me." 

She stared at the darkness where his voice was, shaking her head again, knowing it was useless, but too afraid to concede, "He… He… No, you don't understand. He… He put his…" She trailed off as the hand on her navel pressed down, as if reminding her not to panic. She was suddenly thankful for its presence, as it forced her to breathe -- or, at least, remember how. 

Several moments passed in silence, her staring at where she thought he was, him pressing and rubbing small circles in the span between her hip bones. The impasse broke when he simply went back to what he was doing, as if she'd never spoken, gentle fingertips opening her labia and slipping inside. She turned her head, her head felt stuffed with cotton as she tried to come to grips with November -- a man, a dead man, she didn't know -- sharing her most important secret. 

The relative silence, comforting before there little chat, was suddenly uncomfortable. Fourteen turned her head, her eyes roving, searching for something to see. When his fingertips reached her core and started to rub at the dip of the entrance, she took a breath and cast about for something -- anything -- to say, "What is a special bath?" 

November stopped what he was doing and pulled his hands away. Fourteen sat up from the edge of the tup, her hands tightening on the lip. Had she offended him? "I'm sorry, I just… Someone helped me get back here, he said…" She paused, licking her lips nervously, "He said he would like it if I had one." The shade didn't answer, "November?" 

"It is…" The shade paused himself, though Fourteen couldn't tell why. It was possible he was simply trying to remember how to talk. Finally, his hand returned to their positions and continued their careful cleaning, "It is an amusement for them," his voice almost sounded normal, if a little hollow, "Did he demand this?" 

She furrowed her brows. Demand? She didn't think it was a demand. At least, it wouldn't have been, coming from her, but he was a prince, was he not? Were his wishes, in fact, commands? The shade was making her question and rethink every word spoken, even the claw tips on her arms, and the thumb against her lips, looking for hidden meaning, "I don't… think…" 

He seemed to relax at that, "Then it is nothing." 

Judging by the way he'd reacted, Fourteen came to the opposite conclusion. It was absolutely something, "What is it?" she asked softly. 

The words were barely spoken when the shade responded, his voice flat and harsh, "Semen. Bathe you in semen." He stopped talking and went back to his work and Fourteen asked no more questions. 

Master's semen hadn't seemed that bad. It was messy, and sticky, and they had cut her, and then thrown her out so those people could stare at it, dripping down her legs, but the actual moment had been… Well, she had been frantic and aching and near wild with need, but it had felt good, and his seed had been slippery and intimate, and their sweat-streaked bodies had been weighty and warm, their touch gentle. 

For a moment, her body had hummed like one of those new electricity machines, but November made it sound cruel, a punishment to be doled out at the whims of mercurial gods, that he would be forced to inflict upon her. 

The girl slipped her hand between her legs to find his, touching him as if she, the sacrificial broodmare, could comfort him, the immortal shade. He paused, his fingers flexing before he moved again, pressing his hand against her cunt again, his fingers spreading to pull her lips together and into his palm. 

Something about the way he held her like that, unmoving -- the blatant, even ostentatious, claiming of her sex made her feel strange. At once soothed, and stimulated, fresh and innocent as a fuzzy stemmed daisy, luscious and sexual as one of the pin up girls the boys at home would collect drawings of. 

Fourteen didn't pull away, rather she let her legs drift apart and leaned back against the side of the tub. Tilting her hips, she presented herself to his charge and for his indulgence.


End file.
